


Final Lifeline

by Engineer104



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Sad Ending, Self-Sacrifice, Time Travel, Torture, Unrequited Love, allurance in one scene, but also hopeful??, for a bit, i dunno man, i honestly don't know what to tag this..., more or less, not graphic!!, not much tbh, really the 'mature' rating is 'just in case'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-02 18:39:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16310585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: Pidge always plays to win, but this time the odds are not in her favor.And if she loses, Lance may get worse than being fed to the Snick...





	Final Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> Me after writing Specter: okay, this is fine, i've gotten it out of my system and will never write a Major Character Death fic ever again  
> Me starting this fic: oh was i a fool ~~but this time i mean it~~
> 
> my thanks to [Rueitae](https://rueitae.tumblr.com/) for suggesting i include Bob...and for beta-reading, as usual
> 
> BUT ANYWAY, heed the warnings: there's some implied sexual content in the first scene, plus a bit early in the third scene, plus some ahem torture ~~i'd never written torture how young and innocent i was~~ but it's non-graphic, and just all around...unhappy things
> 
> Regardless, hope you enjoy?? At least a little??

"You know," Lance mused, "I think I remember my life a little better than that movie's writers do."

"No kidding," Pidge said, snickering as she pushed the car door open. "The most accurate thing about that movie was Bob's random cameo near the end."

"Oh, you saw him too?" Lance grinned and added, "At first I thought he was another actor in bad makeup."

"But you're pretty sure it was the real Bob?"

"Oh, to a tee," Lance agreed, "but...hilarious as the, ahem, _liberties_ the writing took were—"

"Oh, quiznak, I was cringing the entire time," Pidge groaned.

"—I think it would've been...worse if it was closer." He stared unseeingly outside the windshield, more somber that she liked to see him.

Pidge's chest tightened, and she reached across the center console to rub his arm. "I know," she said, sighing. "I'll take the cringing over reliving it all in a heartbeat."

Lance's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white, but after a long, slow exhale, he relaxed and turned a smile onto her. "Some parts weren't so bad."

"Of what?" Pidge frowned. "Of the movie or of our lives?"

"Of our lives. I mean, I met you..." He leaned over till his face was a hair's breadth from hers.

Pidge's eyes slipped shut as she kissed him with her hand cupping his jaw. Her heart skipped a beat - odd what a simple, soft press of lips could do to her - but she pulled away quickly, conscious that they still sat outside in a car.

"You doing okay, goofball?" she wondered. When he nodded and rolled his eyes, Pidge laughed, jumping out and racing ahead of Lance and up the stairs to their apartment. The car's chirping lock sounded behind her, and a few heartbeats later his footsteps approached.

His arms fit snugly around her waist, his chin hooking over her shoulder and his warm breath caressing her ear. She leaned back into him with a hum, contentment filling her.

"You had fun with me tonight?" Lance muttered.

"Always," Pidge reassured him, turning her head to press a kiss to his nose. She smirked when his face reddened - almost two years of marriage on top of that year of dating and she _still_ had this effect on him - and ran her fingers through his soft hair.

Sometimes a night out with Lance could work wonders to her stress, and between Voltron, _work_ , and a baby, they rarely had so much time to themselves.

Pidge's heart dipped at the thought of Sana, her brow furrowing with worry as the usual anxiety - the kind that her mother _loved_ to tease her about - encroached into her mind.

But Lance nuzzling her neck, his breath tickling her skin and coaxing a giggle from her, proved distracting. "You're thinking about her again, aren't you?" he asked, his nose brushing her cheek when he lifted his head.

"I'm not," Pidge lied.

"Come on," Lance said, brushing her hair further off one side of her neck, "she's with your parents; it's not like she's on the other side of the solar system..."

Pidge rolled her eyes, but she bit her lip when Lance pressed a kiss to her jaw. "Consider me distracted..."

"Then know what'll make this night even _more_ fun?" he asked, voice low.

(His _seducing_ voice, Pidge called it, and she still hadn't figured out how to resist it despite years of trials...not that she _wanted_ to resist.)

"I don't know," Pidge replied levelly despite the heat rushing to her face, "but I think we should go inside before I find out."

"Oh, quiznak," Lance said, lifting his head and stepping away from her to unlock their apartment door.

He pushed the door open, but before Pidge could enter, he scooped her up in his arms.

A startled and _embarrassing_ squeak escaped her as he settled her against his chest in a cozy bridal carry. " _Lance_!" she yelped, indignant. "Put me down!"

Lance laughed, a teasing and _maniacal_ edge to it as Pidge sulked defiantly with her arms crossed. He stepped over the threshold - reliving the cliche start to their honeymoon, she guessed - before carefully shifting her in his arms to shut the door behind them.

As soon as he turned back to her, Pidge wrapped her arms around his neck and sealed her lips over his.

She heard when his breath hitched in surprise, smiling against his lips when his hold on her tightened; despite her initial reaction, she liked when Lance picked her up.

And the quiznaker _knew_ it.

They parted to breathe, with Pidge shaking her head to clear it of the slight daze. "So...you want to tell me what'll make this night _more_ fun, Loverboy?"

Lance rolled his eyes at the old nickname, but the force of his so-called "Loverboy" smirk fell on her. "What do _you_ think, love of my life?"

Pidge ignored the flush in her face, instead cupping his cheek and craning her neck backwards to meet his dark blue eyes. "You tell me what I should think."

Lance kissed her softly and briefly and said, "Think of me, maybe?"

And despite the warmth spreading through her chest and the tenderness in his eyes, Pidge grinned and challenged, "Make me."

"You're so mean, Katie," Lance groaned, right before he pressed his lips to hers again.

This one felt different than what preceded, something engineered to steal the breath from her lungs. But it followed their familiar pattern, of soft, almost doting kisses followed by ones firmer and _greedier_.

The greed was mostly Pidge's, making up for time lost and taking advantage of the fact that Lance's kisses - his love and affection - were _hers_.

When he set her on her feet, she curved her body into his, craving his heat. Her heart pounded as his hands slipped down to her waist, his fingers finding the skin peeking under the hem of her shirt and making her shiver. She buried her own fingers in his hair, pulling his face closer to hers, and nipped at his bottom lip.

They separated long enough for them to kick off their shoes and for Lance to tug her shirt over her head...until it caught her arm.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said while she fought her way out of it.

Pidge managed to shrug it off and toss it aside, grumbling, "We have a baby, so how are you still so bad at undressing me?"

Lance flashed her a smirk, despite his flushed face, and cupped her face with both hands. When she raised an eyebrow, he said, "I'm pretty sure we conceived her almost fully dressed."

Pidge scowled, a rush of embarrassment at the reminder hitting her, but it didn't stop her from teasing, "And how many times have you tried to unhook my bra in the back when the clasp is at the front?"

Lance rolled his eyes and muttered, "Ha, ha. Now, do you want to take advantage of our one night alone, or are you going to spend it all teasing me?"

Pidge laughed as she unbuttoned his shirt, starting from the top. "I don't see why I can't do both."

"Fine," Lance said as she helped him out of his shirt. "I guess it wouldn't be you if you didn't."

Pidge stumbled backwards when his lips captured hers again. His arm wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her against him, and she shuddered at the contact between their skin.

Heat filled her, anticipation making every touch sharper, her heart racing. Distantly she was aware of the clumsy rush to their bedroom, of Lance fumbling with the clasp of her bra and her knees hitting the end of the bed while he hovered over her.

He met her eyes, his pupils dark, but his voice was tender when he kissed the inside of her wrist, lacing their fingers together, and murmured, "I love you so much, Katie."

Pidge sighed, a giddy smile pushing at her mouth. She combed her fingers through Lance's hair as his lips found her neck and said, "I love you too."

Her eyes slipped shut, a gasp escaping her when his teeth scraped against a sensitive patch of skin at the junction of her neck and shoulder. As his lips traveled lower - quiznak, he kissed so _slow_ \- Pidge couldn't help chiding, "Lance, you're _such_ a tease."

She expected him to pause in his ravishing, just long enough to make a retort that would have her rolling her eyes or poking more fun at him, but no reply came.

The warm presence over her dissipated, Lance's lips gone, his fingers no longer in her grasp, and when Pidge opened her eyes she couldn't find his face.

She sat up slowly, her heart pounding for a different reason now as she gazed around the bedroom. "Lance?" she called softly with a frown. "Where—"

Her surroundings shifted, the walls and floor disintegrating, their collective souvenirs from myriad alien worlds and the photos of them - with her family, with their team, at their impromptu post-elopement wedding, with their newborn daughter - vanishing with them and giving way to a sprawling grid.

Pidge climbed down from the bed, which disappeared as soon as her feet touched the ground. She crossed her arms over her bare chest, feeling naked despite being alone in this strange landscape of white, flashing electricity arcing between orbs that somehow looked both metallic and translucent.

"W-where am I?" she said, glancing around with wide eyes.

"Ah, amnesia," a familiar voice with a note of humor spoke up behind her. "The first one is always the most disorienting."

Pidge stiffened, her face hardening as she pivoted to face her company. She fell into a fighting stance without thought, glaring at the shadowed figure before her. "Who are you? And what happened to Lance?"

As she watched, the shadows gave way to light, revealing—

"Bob?" Pidge's eyes widened, relaxing and straightening, so stunned by his appearance that she dropped her guard. "What the _quiznak_ is going on?"

Bob shook his head, a _tsk_ of disapproval escaping him as he leaned towards her. "Let’s put ten ticks on the board," he said, winking. "A lady as smart as you should figure it out by then."

"I—" But the sensation of fabric encircling her arms and torso interrupted her, and she raised an arm to view the sleeve of her Garrison uniform. "I'm so confused," she said, still too startled to even be frustrated. "Am I dreaming?" She met Bob's jovial eyes. "Am I being tested _again_?"

Bob raised his hands, looking oddly helpless for a near-deity. "In a sense, I suppose you are, although...you’re the one who begged me for the opportunity”—he made a show of glancing at a wristwatch—”which you'll recall in five…four…three…"

" _Begged_ you?" Pidge said incredulously. "Why the quiznak would I—"

She gasped when it hit her, the memory overwhelming her with its force.

Pidge crumpled, her knees hitting some immaterial ground, a lump lodging itself in her throat and an incomprehensible _pain_ squeezing her chest. "N-no..." She shook her head, _refusing_ to believe it, _refusing_ to think anything so _awful_ happened when moments ago she'd been so happy and with _him_.

"Lance isn't—he can't be—no—"

A sob burst out of her alongside the first tears. Her eyes pinched shut while her shoulders shook, and she stared unseeingly at the floor under her hands.

If not for the wave of fresh grief threatening to drown her, she might’ve been more curious about what these threads of electricity were, about the lifting of her hair off the back of her neck and the _charge_ of static that seemed to hum along her skin.

Pidge pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes while she gasped for breath, as if the mere act of _forcing_ the tears away could alter what led up to this moment.

Then she remembered the rest.

Her eyes widened, a sob catching in her throat as she turned her gaze - her _glare_ , because anger was useful, more constructive than mourning - onto Bob’s figure hovering beside her.

“Y-you—” Pidge cut herself off, conscious of the tremble in her voice, and stumbled to her feet. Her hands shook at her sides, her vision still blurring with tears sticking her eyelids together, but resolve offset the pain.

It didn’t erase it, did nothing to ease the awful ache in her chest, but something like hope rekindled within her.

Bob smiled impishly and wondered, "Liked what you saw?"

“Y-yes,” she admitted, her mind flashing back to the warm, _familiar_ affection between her and Lance.

“You want that future, don’t you?” He drifted closer to her right side, looking very interested in her answer.

Her gaze drifted around this alien space until it landed on one of the countless floating orbs. It pulled her towards it with an unnameable gravity, its glistening, translucent surface resolving into a scene:

She saw Lance, lounging on the end of the sofa she recognized from her parents’ house, as if through someone’s - _her own_ , her mind supplied unhelpfully - eyes, a little older and _healthier_ than _before_. Dark bags lay under his eyes, but despite his obvious exhaustion he smiled at the voyeur - at _her_.

He said something - Pidge had never excelled at reading lips so couldn’t tell what - and patted his lap. He laughed after a pause, and she recognized the reassuring tilt to his smile, one directed so many times at her.

Pidge covered her mouth to muffle a soft gasp as tears again slid from the corners of her eyes to dampen her hand, because the longer she watched, the more she _longed_ for this comfortable scene playing out in her parents’ living room.

She stepped back unwittingly when Lance leaned towards her, but a silly, sad smile pushed at her lips when he leaned away and settled something small in his arms, his grin softening as he glanced down before kissing it.

A baby.

 _Their_ baby.

Pidge never thought about children of her own - barely even as a hypothetical - seriously before, rarely considered _anything_ like this further than a fantasy of kissing Lance, but she wanted the future playing out before her so desperately she couldn't breathe.

The scene transfixed her so much, despite that ache that refused to abate, that she might’ve watched it forever if the orb didn’t go dark.

She shook her head to clear it of the daze and turned to Bob, now hovering to her left. She sniffed, wiping her face with her uniform sleeve, and confessed, “I-I _want_ that, but…”

“But?” Bob crossed his arms and hummed thoughtfully. “Would it help to learn you’re a universe-renowned scientist too? More stable than Slav, more intuitive than the Olkari, more _compassionate_ than the Blade…” He stroked his chin. “Seems like a pretty good deal to me.”

But even bereaved with a literal happy ending dangled in front of her, Pidge knew better than to jump on this offer. She crossed her arms and demanded, “What’s the catch?”

“Well…” Bob waved his hand, and two more orbs - these not so dark as the first - joined the other. “There are two more equally probable futures resulting from the change you want.”

“What are they?” she wondered, eagerly approaching one of the new orbs. Then she glared sourly at Bob and said, “Unless you won’t let me see it and think I’ll decide blindly.”

“I’m not one to let someone claim a prize before they know what it is,” Bob retorted, “so go ahead and see for yourself…”

Without a second thought, Pidge touched the swirling green orb.

* * *

Pidge stood at the wide window, staring out over Olkarion’s capital and towards the lush forest beyond. From here she could feel the trees thrumming with life, the signals they sent along their roots through the ground part of the lifeblood of the planet itself.

She loved it here, almost as much as she loved her own home, and often split her time between it and Earth. And if not for her parents - _and Ryan,_ she reminded herself begrudgingly - she might’ve moved here permanently.

Unfortunately, the one drawback was—

“Pidge!”

Her eyes slipped shut in exasperation that was a touch too fond for her liking, and she exhaled, gathering her patience - and her courage - as Lance walked towards her.

She hated how relieved she was that he approached her alone.

Behind him the Coalition meeting broke into smaller groups, both to socialize and catch up with old friends rarely seen and to further discuss the meeting’s points. Even Keith mingled, mostly with other Galra if he dared drift away from Shiro.

Usually Pidge might be right in the thick of it, elaborating on a topic of interest she brought up during the meeting and happily answering the questions of fellow scientists and amateurs alike, but seeing Lance…

Her chest squeezed, tempering how happy she was - how happy she _should_ be - to see him.

“Hey, Lance,” she said, forcing her mouth into something resembling a smile. “You look…”

 _“Happy”_ was the first word to rise to her tongue as she took in his broad grin, but something strained in it and his eyes put her off. So she settled on the only slightly less incriminating, “You look good.”

Lance laughed, running his fingers through hair a little longer than she remembered, and said, “I haven’t seen you in almost a year, and the first thing you say to me is a _compliment_?” He nudged her in the arm, his smile hardly faltering as he wondered, “Who are you and what have you done to my Pidge?”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she crossed her arms and admitted, “I guess it _has_ been a while…”

“I know!” Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Seems like you’ve been pretty distant lately though. You doing okay?”

His concern warmed Pidge, but that feeling was no longer welcome. “I…have a new boyfriend,” she said, shrugging. “Keeping busy with him.”

“Already?” Lance said, his eyebrows shooting up. “Didn’t you break up with what’s-his-face not that long ago?”

Pidge frowned. “You mean James?”

“James _Griffin_?” Lance’s jaw dropped. “What happened to the other guy?”

Pidge grimaced, suspecting she knew who he remembered, and glanced away. “I’d…rather not talk about it.”

(It had been a nasty, bitter breakup…worse than all the rest.)

“Okay,” Lance said, shrugging, “but if you do, you know you can talk to me, right?” He rested a hand on her shoulder, drawing her eyes back to his face and his pretty, earnest eyes.

“I…okay,” she said, knowing she’d never take Lance, of all people, up on that offer.

“But still…” Lance’s hand fell from her shoulder - she exhaled - and he bounced on his feet. “I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised when you disappear into your projects for months without saying anything. You need to relax a bit, maybe visit us on New Altea.” He grinned hopefully and leaned towards her before waggling his eyebrows. “I know Arturo misses his Aunt Pidge.”

“I don’t know, Lance,” Pidge said, turning away from him. “I don’t have the time for vacation, and…” She bit her lip, glancing sideways at him before plowing ahead despite knowing better, “You can always visit Earth if you”—she swallowed—”and Arturo miss me so much.”

“Time’s a little tight for us too,” Lance confessed with a sheepish smile. “We’re not going anywhere that isn’t necessary.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Visiting Earth isn’t _necessary_?”

"I know, right?" Lance groaned and rubbed his face. "Always with the missions...sometimes I really hate having to be a diplomat. Guess that's what I get for marrying a princess, right?"

Pidge pressed her lips together and obstinately didn't say that he didn't _have_ to marry a princess. Instead she wondered, "When was the last time you were on Earth?"

"It was...oh, quiznak." Lance cupped his chin, tapping it thoughtfully as he stared past her and out the window looking over Olkarion. "It was for Arturo's third birthday," he said, snapping his fingers in realization before his eyes widened in horror. "Has it really been that long? My mother will kill me..."

Pidge's jaw dropped; had it really been that long? "And Arturo's six now?"

"Yeah!" Lance's mood shifted, his smile dazzling again and his eyes sparkling with the sort of joy she only saw in him when he flew his Lion or talked about his son - the sort of joy that warmed something inside _her_. "Apparently his cognitive development is more like a human's than an Altean's, so he's been in schooling for about two years already."

"Cognitive development?" Pidge echoed, raising an eyebrow and amused despite herself. "Big words for you."

"Hey, I happen to use _many_ big words," Lance retorted, rolling his eyes. "I just don't spout them at the same _frequency_ as you."

Pidge snickered, unable to help the fond smile she shot his way. "Why didn't you bring Arturo with you?" she wondered. "I know you don't like being away from him for long."

Lance sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the window in front of her. "Couldn't miss his lessons for a Coalition meeting, and Allura has him shadowing Coran for a few vargas every movement now."

"Already?" Pidge blinked in surprise. "He's still so young."

"Well, according to Allura, you're never too young to learn how to be a head of state." A grimace so fleeting Pidge wondered if she imagined it crossed Lance's face, but he grinned before long. "Anyway, sounds like you miss him, and since I can't bring him to Earth - my mother will probably kidnap him if I go back - that's some incentive to visit us, Pidge."

She bit her lip, clasping her hands tightly together until she feared they'd grow numb. At least it would distract her from the persistent heartache...

Last time she met Lance's son he'd been shy of her at first, so shy she'd hardly believed he was _his_. He'd warmed up to her quickly, becoming her persistent shadow while she went about her business and offering to braid her hair like he did for his mother and telling her about his friends and his pets and what Lance told him about _her_.

It culminated in him sneaking aboard the Green Lion before she took off, going missing for long enough that Allura's private guard went searching for him until Green made her aware of his presence in her cockpit.

(She and Green had a _long_ nonverbal talk about timing after that.)

Lance had teased her that Arturo didn't want her to leave, and Pidge couldn't help wondering if he felt the same when he wrapped her into a hug and held her so tight she thought he would feel her aching heart pounding against his chest.

Seeing Arturo - seeing Lance - was always a bittersweet experience that left her longing for what she couldn't have.

Then all of Lance's words hit her through the fog of reminiscing, and her head whipped back to gape at him. " _If_ you go back? To Earth, your _home_?"

Lance smiled sheepishly. "Like I said, we're...busy."

"I'm busy too," Pidge challenged, "yet I still make time to see my _family_."

"Not all of them," Lance pointed out, tone darkening as his eyes narrowed.

She glared at him, her temper flaring, but before she could call him out on his hypocrisy, Allura joined them.

Her eyebrows were drawn together in a familiar expression of worry, but when her eyes fell on Pidge the furrow smoothed and she smiled.

"Pidge!" she said, tone cheerful as she pulled her into a hug that would give Hunk's a run for their money in strength. When she pulled away, leaving Pidge with a smile of her own, she said, "It's been so long since we saw you."

"I know," Pidge said, a little more tersely than she meant as her eyes shifted from Allura to Lance.

He smiled, his fingers wrapping around Allura's wrist and tugging her towards him. She went along, and when Lance leaned in to kiss her she turned her head so his lips landed on her cheek.

Pidge averted her eyes, choosing to stare vacantly at the dwindling crowd inside the conference room rather than at the object of her affections being rebuffed by his wife - and avoiding dwelling on that stupid, shameful, _familiar_ hope that swelled within her.

Until it popped.

Quiznak, she missed Lance, and she never really realized it when they were apart, not until they occupied the same space, within easy reach of her...and when she wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball, disappear, and _forget_ the conflicting feelings seeing him incited in her.

"You know, Pidge," Lance said lightly, the contrast to tone from when Allura interrupted nabbing her attention again, "if you're so worried about _time_ , you can always bring your new boyfriend with you if you visit."

"A new boyfriend?" Allura grinned, her hands clasped together in girlish glee. "What's his name and how did you meet?"

"Uh...Ryan," Pidge said, awkwardly wringing the hem of her uniform jacket. "And we met when we expelled Sendak's invasion of Earth."

"Nothing brings people together like adversity," Allura mused, her enthusiasm scarcely faltering. "My father used to say that."

"Didn't you mention he also said that nothing tears people apart like adversity?" Lance wondered, raising an eyebrow at her.

Allura's eyes pinched shut, and she tartly replied, "Yes, I suppose I did."

Lance rolled his eyes while Pidge grew more and more bewildered throughout the exchange.

"So," Allura continued as if no tension lay over them, "what do you say, Pidge?" She took Pidge's hands and squeezed. "We - all three of us, and Coran of course - miss you and would love to host you and your boyfriend. Even bring your parents and Matt, if you like."

"Yeah, we have plenty of space," Lance agreed, flashing her a hopeful grin.

"No," Pidge said, shaking her head. "I just don't have time; I already split it between here and Earth, and I told you already, Lance, I can't take a vacation."

"Come on, Pidge." Lance straightened, spreading his arms as if to beckon her. "Break the monotony for a little while and _relax_."

Pidge, still skeptical, still _desperate_ to avoid him when she possibly could, said, "You were just complaining about how busy you are, so why would you have time for guests?"

"Saves us travel time," Lance said, "and you know I'd make time for you." He bridged the gap between them with only a couple long strides and threw an arm around her shoulders. "What do you say?"

It was all too much, his arm around her and his body's warmth and his low voice so close to her ear. It made her heart pound and heat rush to her face, but somehow she kept herself from leaning into him, from letting him support her weight, when it was _all_ she wanted to do.

So she shrugged his arm off instead, extricating herself from his reach and pretending not to notice the hurt flitting across his face.

"I already told you, Lance," she said through gritted teeth, "I don't have time."

Lance scowled and practically hissed, "If you don't want to come, Pidge, why don't you just say that?"

Pidge matched his glare, heedless of Allura's concerned frown and hand extending towards Lance's shoulder. "Maybe I'm saying it now."

She expected him to retort, to shout, to sneer an angry and _hurtful_ response like he always did when someone _really_ got him going.

Instead he sagged, his eyes downcast, his whole demeanor sending a pang of sympathy through her heart and she had to grab her wrist to keep from reaching for him.

"Quiznak, Pidge, you're one of my best friends," Lance mumbled. "Why don't we see each other anymore?"

Pidge swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, biting back her frustration as she snapped, "Maybe because the last thing I want to do to 'relax' is see you so happy without me."

"But you wouldn't be—oh, Pidge…"

His eyes widened with an understanding that horrified Pidge, so much that she wished she could take the words back so they could all live in ignorance again. But she couldn't help glancing at Allura to check if she caught on too.

But Allura wasn't looking at her; she was glaring at Lance.

Pidge didn't want to puzzle through that, not when frustrated and _unhappy_ tears pricked at the corners of her eyes with every tick none of them said anything. She didn't want to make sense of the color darkening Lance's cheeks or her own heart pounding.

Not anymore.

So Pidge fled.

Her step didn't falter even when she heard both Lance and Allura call after her, nor when she slipped between knots of people, familiar or alien. She ignored Shiro's and Keith's alarmed outbursts and simply _ran_.

The next time she blinked, trying to clear her water-blurred vision, Olkarion disappeared, and she flinched away from the orb she'd last touched as if the electricity arcing to and from it _shocked_ her.

"Through that future lies grief?" Bob guessed, entering her view on his hovercraft. He shook his head, a disapproving frown on his face while waiting for Pidge to collect herself.

She sniffed and wiped at her face, the flow of tears stemmed as everything else came back to her - everything from Lance's death to her deal with Bob to the _first_ probable future she lived.

How she _hated_ this helplessness, this uselessness, this impotent _ache_ settling into her heart.

When her heartbeat slowed - when she thought she could be more objective - Pidge shakily mused, "This o-one wouldn't be s-so bad; at least Lance is h-happy with A-Allura and their s-son."

"And you're willing to put money on that?" Bob wondered.

The colors on the orb's surface changed, swirling and reforming into a new scene that caught Pidge's eye, of a silent quarrel.

But the body language told her everything she needed to know.

Lance's glare and the way he flailed his arms, Allura's glower and how she turned her back to him...

How their demeanor abruptly shifted from angry to merely tense when a door slid open and a child entered the simply furnished room.

The child ran to Lance first, his arms wrapping around his waist while he buried his face in his shirt. Lance knelt to hold him tightly, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back while the child hooked his chin over his shoulder and smiled.

Allura stood aside, her arms crossed and a frown Pidge interpreted as _ashamed_ flitting over her face before the child extricated himself from Lance's grip and ran to her.

Pidge tore her gaze away lest her heart fracture more than it already had. "All couples fight," she told Bob, though it sounded weak to her own ears.

"We all see what we want," Bob said, resting his chin in the palm of his odd hands.

Her fury rose again as she snapped, "But I only see what _you_ want me to."

"I take it this means you're ready for the final round?"

Pidge turned to face him properly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Why the quiznak are you giving me this chance to change the timeline, Bob?" she demanded, her narrowed eyes focused on his irritatingly _smug_ face. "Why me, and why for _this_? What is it to you if Lance lives or dies?"

Bob, to her surprise, laughed. "What can I say? Your pleas were quite moving”—he leaned so close to her she reflexively leaned back—”and I'm a sucker for a good romance!"

His words did nothing to soothe her anger, but her heart skipped a beat. "I d-don't buy that."

"Right, you're too smart to," Bob agreed, rapidly hovering away. "I give this test to a lot of proven heroes, and so far none has disappointed me. Maybe you'll be the first, Katie Holt..."

* * *

Pidge woke to a tickle against her neck, to a warm body at her back and fingers combing through her hair. All of it familiar, all of it comfortable and _soothing_ despite the lumpy mattress and threadbare blankets and drafty room, but when she opened her eyes she couldn't remember where she was.

Pidge had forgotten the last time she slept her fill without Lance beside her. Something about his mere presence kept her anxieties and the tension that almost always filled her at bay, so the unfamiliarity of her surroundings didn’t bother her as much as they should’ve.

Crumbling plaster walls with chipped paint, a dirty window without a curtain that allowed in cloudy gray light, a bathroom missing floor tiles and without a door in one corner, beige shag carpet in desperate need of vacuuming…

It reminded her irresistibly of a dingy interstate exit motel room on Earth, and for a good tick Pidge, burying her face in a flat pillow, thought she was _home_.

Until she caught a glimpse of her torn and tattered Garrison uniform jacket draped over the back of a chair.

“Quiznak,” she hissed, fumbling for the digital watch she reprogrammed to give the time in vargas and doboshes. “What time is it?”

_Five vargas._

Pidge sighed in relief, setting the watch down and falling back into her pillow. When the mattress shifted beneath her, she turned her head to see Lance propping himself up on an elbow and smiling down at her.

"What?" she said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"I've never seen you so relieved to be awake," Lance observed, laughing slightly. His fingers skimmed her hip, warming her skin, as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

Pidge laughed, playfully smacking his face away, and said, "It was bound to happen at some point, and if I hadn't...could I have trusted you to wake me up in time?"

Lance's eyes flitted away from her face, and he mumbled, "You would've needed the sleep. I know you haven't been sleeping well lately, Pidge."

Pidge grabbed his chin, tilting his head down so she could look him in the eye, and said, "I'll have to go, Lance. My shuttle leaves in five vargas."

He kissed the inside of her wrist, then tugged himself from her grip to lean down and press his lips softly against hers. "Did you account for time dilation?" he wondered without drifting away.

Pidge's fingers wrapped around his bicep. "Why would I? We're on the same planet so the clocks won't be off."

Lance's nose brushed hers when he pulled back a bit. "You know how dumb I am, Pidge."

Her arm balanced against his shoulder. "You're not dumb," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "You're just being dense on purpose, probably so that I'll explain it all to you and go off on some tangent and take so long I'll miss my shuttle."

Pidge felt rather than saw his mouth curl into a smirk. "You caught me..." he mumbled, something in his voice warming her to her core.

He laid a trap for her, and Pidge knew she was about to play into it when she buried her fingers in his hair.

"I love you and I love wasting time with you but..." She trailed off when Lance's lips brushed her jaw, his hand on her waist sending a shiver up her spine.

"Don't leave until I leave then," Lance suggested, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Leave with you, you mean?"

"Yes," he said, cupping her face and finally capturing her in a proper kiss.

 _I can't,_ Pidge would say if her lips weren't otherwise and blessedly occupied. _I can't,_ she _should_ say, because despite their combined strengths being together proved riskier than being apart.

But it grew harder to think when Lance kissed her like this, intent on leaving them both breathless, so she melted into the press of his lips and the heat of his body, finding the same comfort from him that he once sought from her.

Sometimes Pidge wondered if Lance ever would've fallen for her if Allura survived the destruction of Voltron.

The unwelcome thought made her chest tighten, and she pulled slightly away from Lance as memories flooded her. "Lance..."

He rested his forehead on hers. "Katie," he said, and the use of her real name gave her pause, "are you okay?" His thumb brushed her cheek, his breath warm on her skin and his weight against her comfortable and familiar.

But it was too much.

Her blood rushed as her temper rose, and she pushed Lance off her and sat up. "What do you think, Lance?" she snapped. " _Nothing_ is okay! How can _anything_ be okay?"

He sat up beside her, his eyes wide with alarm as his hand reached out to her, but Pidge plowed on:

"The Coalition's barely _dust_ at this point, the Atlas is _gone_ and quiznak knows Shiro must be taking it badly if he's _ordering_ us around—"

"I don't think that's all Shiro's taking badly," Lance muttered with a frown.

"—and it's bad enough that I don't know when we'll next see Hunk, but now I have to lose _you_?" She shuddered as she took a bracing breath, wiping away the angry, frustrated tears that pricked at her eyes. "And Lance, we can never—"

Pidge cut herself off, her eyes flying wide as her brain caught up with her words. She met Lance's gaze, and at the way his was downcast, she knew he'd heard what she _tried_ to leave unspoken.

_—go home._

No, they couldn't go home, not when there was no _Earth_ to return to.

"Lance," Pidge said when the ensuing silenced proved too stifling. She grabbed his hands and laced their fingers together, forcing a weak, teary smile onto her face when he glanced up.

"Don't you get it, Pidge?" Lance said, his voice low and steadier than she expected despite the shine in his eyes. He kissed her knuckles and tugged her towards him. "You, Hunk, and Shiro are the only family I have left."

Pidge swallowed around the lump in her throat and promised, "We'll find her, Lance. If we could find Matt, we can find Veronica."

He smiled sadly, wiping his eyes with their joined hands. "It's already been deca-phoebs, Pidge," he said. "Last time I saw her _all_ my family was together."

A sob escaped Pidge as she threw her arms around his neck, half-jumping into his lap and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms tightened around her, his body shaking against hers while he silently fell apart.

For someone so loud, Lance was an eerily quiet crier.

She ran her fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses into his neck despite the tears trailing down her own cheeks, giving whatever comfort she could. “I-I’ll work with Matt,” she reassured him. “Together we’ll comb Altean communications for mentions of her.”

“L-like you’ve b-been doing,” Lance retorted without much bite, his voice muffled by her neck.

Pidge sighed and pinched her eyelids shut. “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth, “like we’ve been doing.”

Lance pulled away without letting her go, his eyes red and face tear-stained. He mused, “Is it b-bad that I’m a-almost… _glad_ A-Allura didn’t live to see what her people became?”

“Honerva destroyed Voltron,” Pidge said, keeping her tone soft. “I-I think she s-saw enough to know.”

“Quiznak,” Lance said. He leaned away, a mirthless chuckle escaping him despite his hand covering his mouth. “I can’t believe I miss Zarkon.”

Pidge giggled, his laughter, despite the lack of real humor, infectious. It soothed - though not erased - the ever-present ache in her chest.

Her eyelids fluttered closed when Lance cupped her face, his touch calming and his lips soft on hers. “I love you, Pidge,” he whispered only a hair’s breadth from her mouth. “You know that, right?”

Her breath trapped in her lungs, Pidge could only nod.

“Th-that’s why I want to stay with you, Pidge…Katie.”

“But Shiro’s orders—”

“ _Screw_ Shiro’s orders!” Lance said with more ferocity than she expected. He let her go, shoving aside the thin blanket and jumping out of bed, and said, “ _He_ _’s_ not our leader anymore, and he’s not in the right frame of mind either since—”

“Are _any_ of us in the right ‘frame of mind’?” Pidge retorted.

“Maybe not,” Lance conceded with a grimace, “but is separating _really_ going to keep us - keep _you_ \- any safer?” He glanced around the room, hands on his hips, and grumbled, “And where the quiznak are my pants?”

Pidge spotted Lance’s pants in a pile beside her; she leaned over and picked them up, tossing them at him. “No, Shiro’s not our leader anymore,” she said, sighing as her anger faltered, “but that’s because there’s nothing _to_ lead anymore either. It’s _nothing_ like it was when we still had Voltron. Any sacred Altean can sense a broken Paladin bond, and even the weakest Altean soldier can pinpoint _two_.”

Lance’s jaws flapped uselessly before he rolled his eyes. “I hate when you use logic to argue with me.”

“Only when it’s not in your favor,” Pidge scoffed, “and we’re more valuable to the rebels when we’re not cloistered in one spot.”

“What _value_?” Lance demanded, gesturing with his pants. “You’re an asset to what force the rebels have left, but what am I good for?” He tugged his pants on, one leg at a time, with a scowl on his face. His gaze fell on the gloomy gray window, and he muttered, “I’m useless without a Lion.”

“What?” Pidge’s heart dropped in disappointment, at the reminder of Green’s loss and the absence of her nonverbal _voice_ in her head, and she jumped out of bed and towards Lance. “A-are you stupid?” Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, spurring him into looking at her. “You’re not your Lion, Lance; none of us were!”

“Sure,” he said, tone dripping irony, “but what can I do without Red that a thousand or more other rebels can’t?”

Pidge smacked her forehead, frustration again rising within her. “Lance, _everyone_ is important, _everyone_ has a skill, and _everyone_ has a role, even if it overlaps with someone else’s.” She met his eyes, a furrow in her brow, and added, “You think what _I_ can do is even that unique? My _brother_ has a similar skill set to me!”

“That’s because the Holts are all geniuses,” Lance replied with a fleeting smile. A sigh escaped him - quiznak, it hurt to see someone who tried so hard to be upbeat like this - and he cupped her jaw with one hand.

Pidge leaned into his palm, a sniff escaping her as she said, “A lot of good that did my dad.” She wiped at her eyes, but before she could tear up again, Lance wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.

Pidge breathed shakily as she clutched at his shoulders and felt his steady heartbeat against her cheek, felt the warmth of his skin and his lips brushing her hair.

All things she would miss.

All things she _already_ missed thanks to the preemptive ache deep in her chest.

“E-either way,” Pidge told him, “y-you’re still in as m-much danger as the rest of us by being an ex-Paladin.”

“Katie…”

Pidge pulled back, grabbing his cheeks and tilting his face down. “And listen to me, Lance:  we _will_ see each—”

The door burst open explosively, slamming into the wall and swinging back on its hinges. Lance screeched indignantly and pushed Pidge, wearing little more than a sports bra and an old pair of boxer shorts, behind him when Ozar strode into the tiny bedroom, white whiskers bristling.

“Hey, can’t you kn—”

“No time,” Ozar said. “They’re on their way.”

Pidge’s heart jumped into her throat, and she reached for Lance’s hand on reflex. “How long do we have?”

“Ten doboshes or less,” Ozar pronounced, grimacing. “Collect what belongings you have; the less you leave behind, the better.” He turned on his heel and left, swinging the door shut behind him.

Pidge exhaled, but before she stepped away from Lance she buried her fingers in his hair and tugged him down for a kiss.

Her heartbeat in her ear reminded her that they didn’t have the luxury for this moment, but she poured all her love - all her hopes, her fears and _frustration_ \- into it. And from Lance’s enthusiastic response, from his tight, almost bruising grip on her waist, she knew he did the same.

They pulled apart, red-faced and breathless, and Pidge lightly smacked his cheek and said, “I love you, goofball.”

Lance smiled and bumped her nose with his. “I know.”

“Stop it,” Pidge said, a silly smile pushing at her lips. “Knowing is _my_ thing.”

“Well, loving you is mine,” he murmured, his voice full of affection and his lips soft on her cheek.

It set butterflies loose in her stomach, but Pidge couldn’t let herself - or Lance - dwell on them and on this rare, fleeting peace. She reluctantly let him go, stepping out of his reach, and found her bag at the foot of the bed.

Packing was never an ordeal anymore, not after years on the move staying one step ahead of the Alteans hunting them down. They’d lost their armor long ago - she would’ve ditched it at some point anyway, the design too incriminating if a potential enemy found it in her belongings - but kept their bayards, the last pieces they had of Voltron, close.

But her old Garrison uniform…

Pidge grabbed the worn jacket off the chair, picking at a loose thread, finding a hole at an elbow, stains in the armpits. A part of her wanted to waste the time and resources repairing it, despite her dismal sewing ability, but she knew it would be pointless when she now always traveled in disguise.

Her heart sank as she stuffed the old jacket into her bag.

Lance chattered lightly while they hurriedly dressed, but only every other word penetrated Pidge’s preoccupied brain. He didn’t really need her to listen - sometimes he spoke to fill the silence - but guilt still twisted in her gut when she couldn’t focus on more than a few words at a time. How could she not spend their last morning together committing every single one of his inane conversational threads to memory?

After rearranging the contents of her bag - careful that her computer and short-range communication device were bundled in her clothes - she tackled her hair.

It was in need of a wash, she thought, but with the clock running out she only spared the time to wash her face and comb water through the strands. But that did little to tame the frizz and left her with the knots.

“Wish I could just chop it off,” Pidge grumbled, brushing it off her face and bunching it into a ponytail.

“Why?” Lance said, so close that she jumped at the sound of his voice. He plucked the hair tie from her fingers and looped it around the ponytail. “I like it long.”

“I’m sorry to say your opinion doesn’t matter as much as you think,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes.

Lance ran his fingers through the ponytail. “I liked it short too,” he pointed out.

She grinned, but before she could summon a proper response, a sharp knock sounded from the door.

“Hurry! They’ve sprung my alarms.”

Pidge glanced at Lance, and he helped her into a bulky raincoat before shrugging into his own. They gathered their bags, and he preceded her from the room.

Pidge looked back, checking they didn’t forget anything, but all she left behind was a tenuous security, the last place she and Lance would simply _sleep_ together for a long time.

Ozar met them at the back door, burdened by his own belongings and rebel communication equipment. “Before we part,” he said, resting a huge blue hand on Pidge’s shoulder, “you must know where to pick up your ticket.”

“The spaceport, right?” she said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, I have a contact - Unilu with an eye patch, you can’t miss her - that will meet you in the northwestern corner of the courtyard.”

Pidge nodded, her jaw setting. “I’ll find her,” she promised. “Thank you for everything, Ozar, and for helping me locate my brother”—she grinned—”again.”

Ozar flashed her a rare smile before clapping his other hand onto Lance’s shoulder. “Go safely, Paladins,” he said, “and tell Matt I hope to see him again soon. And remember—”

The flimsy safe house’s foundation shook, dust raining from the ceiling. Ozar’s eyes widened in alarm, and he turned towards the front. “No.”

Pidge’s heart skipped a beat as Lance grabbed her sweaty hand and towed her out. “Ozar—”

“Go!” Ozar said, his eyebrows furrowed and a scowl visible even through his dense beard. “They will learn nothing from me.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. “But—”

She gasped, cutting him off, at the shouts drifting towards them, of the scent of something burning and the scratch of dust in her throat…of Lance’s hand squeezing hers and bringing her back to herself.

“Pidge, we need to go,” he insisted.

She hesitated, taking one last look at Ozar, who already stood with his back to them and unarmed except for a small blaster, before following Lance outside into a back alley. Guilt bit at her as they fled, a lump sitting in her throat by the time they emerged onto the main street.

Their path took them back in front of the safe house, now overrun by Altean soldiers.

“We should go the long way to the spaceport,” Pidge said. “It’s only a few blocks out of the—”

“No,” Lance said, a deep frown on his face. “I—maybe we can find some way to free Ozar.”

“Lance…” she trailed off, not having the heart to argue with him.

Quiznak, how _useless_ they’d become without their Lions…

Uproarious laughter emerged from within the safe house, but a hastily erected barricade - police tape and collapsible signs, Pidge observed wryly - guarded by sentries and impassive soldiers with hoktril implants prevented them from approaching without attracting attention.

A small crowd already gathered on this side of the barrier, and Lance dragged Pidge into the thick of it. She secured the hood of her raincoat close to her face, holding tight to him so they wouldn’t get separated.

They emerged onto a scene well under control, the safe house’s front door thrown wide open as soldiers flooded in and out, excavating it. But before it on the street, an Altean man with powder-blue hair and gray cheek markings stood over a bloody, beaten, and unconscious - quiznak, Pidge _hoped_ \- Ozar.

“Look at this!” said the Altean, the officer in charge judging by his armor…and by the badge pinned to his chest.

Pidge sucked in a breath at the sight, recognizing it as that of a sacred Altean. “Lance,” she mumbled, never taking her eyes off the badge, “we have to—”

“Look what the Voltron Coalition has become!” continued the officer, gesturing with his ceremonial broadsword at Ozar. “Resorting to tiny _safe houses_ on backwaters like Morsion and _barely_ able to resist the might of Empress Honerva!”

“That’s because he’s only one person,” Lance sneered, his glare landing on the Altean officer.

Pidge’s hand tightened around his, her heart thumping painfully with nerves. They had to leave, had to be away _right now_ before the sacred Altean _sensed_ them…

“But what is the Voltron Coalition without Voltron?” the officer jeered, the surrounding soldiers - from Alteans to conscripts from conquered planets - echoing him and riling up the crowd. “But soon the rebels will fall, just like this one”—he nudged Ozar’s limp form with his boot—”and just like their half-Galra Black Paladin.”

Pidge moved the instant before Lance did, her fingers wrapping around his elbow and tugging him towards her before he could vault over the barrier, before he could act on the anger twisting his face and the tension coiling in his spine…and the sheen of tears in his eyes.

She sniffed, angry tears pooling at the corners of her own eyes and gritting her teeth against a sob that threatened to burst from her. “L-Lance,” she said, careful to keep her voice low lest someone in the crowd responding to the soldiers’ encouragement notice they were less than enthused by the show, “we _have_ to get away from here.”

For a long tick, Pidge worried that Lance hadn’t heard her, but he abruptly turned, dragging her through the heedless crowd with a single-minded determination.

Pidge kept pace with him, jogging to keep up with his longer stride and not bothering to point out they headed in the direction _opposite_ to the one they needed to go. No, neither of them said a thing until Lance led her into an alley.

She half-expected him to embrace her, to yell, to cry…but she should’ve expected what he did instead.

He took both of her hands and said, “S-stay with me, Pidge.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she told him.

“No, I mean…leave with me, not alone,” Lance insisted.

“I already told you I—”

It hit her later than it should’ve.

“Lance,” Pidge said, her eyes widening in alarm and her heartbeat spiking in fear, “what if they intercepted my message to Matt?”

She saw the same anxiety now infecting her reflected in Lance’s face. “Then they’ll be expecting you,” he realized.

“But if it’s been intercepted, I still have to find some way to warn him!” Pidge half-turned back towards the main street, her feet already angling her towards the safe house and the communication equipment and rebel codes stored there, but Lance grabbed her arm.

“You can’t go back now!” he said when she glared over her shoulder at him. “They’ll either confiscate or destroy what you used to contact him last night.”

“Well, I need to do _something_ ,” Pidge hissed, wrenching her arm from his grip, “and nothing I carry with me has the bandwidth I need.”

“Can’t you modify it with, I don’t know, scrapped parts?” Lance wondered. He gestured around them, at the gloomy town of decrepit buildings and unhappy refugees, and said, “I’m sure there’s a junk shop around here somewhere.”

“Lance, it’s not that easy,” Pidge said, struggling to rein in her temper. “It’s not just _parts_ I need, it’s also time and a safe place to mess around, neither of which we have.”

“So what the quiznak do you want to do?” Lance demanded.

Pidge frowned, considering their options, but with each possibility her heart sank deeper, a pit of dread building in her stomach.

There were no good options, no one they could contact for help without risking detection, and no way to stay on Morsion - a tiny, isolated, poor, _occupied_ planet - indefinitely without avoiding another run-in with someone who could recognize them on the spot.

“We have to stick to the old plan,” Pidge decided, and before Lance could protest or even open his mouth, she hurriedly added, “But you have to come with me.”

His answering, _hopeful_ grin filled her with warmth, ahead of the relief that, despite the risks, he was right:

Parting - leaving him behind where a known enemy could find him - was more dangerous than staying together.

Pidge had never been happier to be wrong.

“What about the ticket thing?” Lance asked, raising an eyebrow and resting a hand on his hip. “Isn’t it an ‘admit one’ kind of deal?”

“It’s a paper ticket,” Pidge admitted with a shrug. “Less traceable than an electronic one - why Ozar had to arrange for it - and doesn’t have any name attached to it. Less risky than stowing away…and if the porters don’t let you on just because it’s _admit one_ , then I’ll have something to say to them.” She held her hand out, as if to summon her bayard, and when he shot her an unimpressed glance, she smiled sheepishly.

“I’m happy you came around,” Lance said. He cupped her face and kissed her forehead. “I hate that it took this though…”

Pidge’s fingers wrapped around his wrists, holding him in place so she could feel his breath on her skin. “We have to go,” she muttered despite making no move. “We’ve been in one place for too long and someone might’ve overheard us.”

“Right,” Lance said, a heavy sigh sweeping across her face as he pulled away.

“Let’s go pick up my ticket,” she said.

She’d only taken a single step towards the alley entrance when his hand landed on her shoulder and pulled her back. “I’ll go alone,” he told her. “If there’s a trap, they’ll be expecting you, not me.”

She blinked at him. “Lance, the officer’s a sacred Altean!”

“So?” Lance shrugged as if unbothered, but Pidge knew him well enough to recognize the apprehension warring with steely resolve in his gaze. “Didn’t you see the show he put on outside the safe house? He won’t arrest me without an audience, and the courtyard’s always almost empty.”

“Then—”

“Just hang tight here, Pidge,” he said, shooting her a wink. “I’ll be back in half a varga, and if I’m not, you can rescue me.”

Lance kissed her before she could protest further, stealing her breath and making her heart pound and her head spin. Her hands fisted in his collar, and if not for the dread tying her stomach into knots and her own desperate need for reassurance she might’ve pushed him away.

Pidge didn’t like the way he kissed her, like a nonverbal goodbye, like a last-ditch effort to convince her of his flimsy excuses.

“Lance…” She met his eyes when they parted, finding the air to speak.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, his face flushed and with a nervous edge to his grin. “I’ve still got it.”

“You’d better,” Pidge said with more confidence than she felt. “If you don’t—”

“I know you’ve still got it too and that I can count on you to save my butt,” Lance said. “See you soon.” He pressed one last peck to her cheek, his hand cupping the back of her neck, but before Pidge acted on the desire to grab him and pull him closer, he slipped away, disappearing around the corner.

Pidge counted to fifty before she followed.

She kept her distance, wary of his gaze darting over his shoulder to make sure no one trailed him. And in the midst of pedestrians that wore cloaks and hoods to shield themselves from the chill and damp that plagued them, it was easy to lose sight of him.

Dense gray clouds perpetually concealed Morsion’s sky from view, a thin drizzle soaking the ground with a steady patter and hitting Pidge’s face. She blinked water out of her eyes, treading through puddles and covering her nose at the rancid stench rising from the gutters.

Quiznak, she _really_ wanted off this planet, and her - and Lance’s! - launch into space was so close she could taste it…

But the crowd of people and vehicles dwindled the closer she drew to the spaceport.

It had been several blocks since she last spotted Lance, and the longer she walked without seeing him, the harder her heart pounded. She picked up her pace, her gut churning with nausea, and held her arm out, ready to summon her bayard at a tick’s notice.

The street leading into the courtyard was deserted, but as Pidge drew closer, an achingly familiar voice rose from it.

“—already _told_ you that I’m here alone!”

_Lance._

Pidge’s heart beat in her ears as anger filled her. Her bayard materialized in a flash of green light, its weight comfortable in her hand, but despite her feet begging her to move, she forced herself to creep forward, to peer around the street corner and take stock of the scene playing out in the courtyard:

An Unilu woman wearing an eye patch and a sullen scowl with blood dripping from her forehead, all four arms bound behind her back while two sentries pushed her away under the supervision of a soldier; a diverse array of soldiers, both with and without the hoktril implant, standing in a semicircle; the same Altean officer that bragged about his Empire’s victories over the Coalition, the badge marking him as “sacred” gleaming in Morsion’s dull gray light, examining the red bayard clutched in his hand.

Lance kneeling, one soldier holding each of his shoulders to keep him down, his glare fixed on the officer’s face, a livid red mark on his cheek.

The officer turned his face, revealing the glower he directed at Lance…and a bleeding cut slashing through his eye.

Pidge smirked, a sick glee filling her at the revelation that Lance marked their enemy. A nasty gash like that could easily get infected, easily cost the sacred Altean an eye—

A sharp smack cut off her thoughts as the officer backhanded Lance across the face, his head snapping with the force of it.

Pidge lost her patience and emerged from her hiding place, charging the officer with her bayard morphing.

“Don’t touch—”

Something _hard_ connected with the back of her head, dropping her to her knees while a ringing filled her ears and a dull pain throbbed. Her vision blurred, and as if through a curtain of water, she heard Lance scream, “ _Katie_!”

His voice helped clear her head, enough to shake some of the ringing and for her eyes to focus on him…and the blaster a soldier pressed to his temple.

Her breath caught, her eyes widening with a newfound fear. But adrenaline still filled her, helping her find the strength to stand and brandish her bayard.

Except when did it slip from her fingers?

Two soldiers grabbed her arms while she gaped at her empty hand, binding her wrists in cuffs behind her back. The sacred Altean officer approached her, her deactivated bayard now sitting in his hand.

“I hold in my hands some of the last relics of Voltron,” he pronounced almost reverently. “Only one more remains.” He tucked both into his belt before unsheathing a knife.

A gasp escaped Pidge at the familiar violet gleam, an ache settling deeper into her heart.

Lance echoed her, and he demanded, “Where did you get—”

“Another relic of your time,” the officer said, pacing between them. He pressed the tip of the blade - of _Keith_ _’s_ blade - under Lance’s chin, forcing his head up. “All you Paladins are relics, even without your Lions.”

“Th-then why do you need us?” Lance said. “If we’re _relics_ , then why not let us go?”

“Well, you see,” the officer said, withdrawing the blade and sheathing it at his belt as he paced back towards Pidge, “relics are also symbols, and we can’t have symbols as powerful as you running around.”

“Powerful?” Pidge scoffed, a desperate idea popping into her head. “What kind of power do we have? What kind of power does _Lance_ have? Without a Lion”—she steadfastly avoided looking him in the eye—”he’s useless.”

“Pidge…”

Finally, she glanced in his direction, guilt sitting heavily in her stomach at the sight of his wide, injured eyes. She tried to meet them, to silently tell him she didn’t mean it, that she just wanted to free him even at the cost of her own life.

“K-keep me,” Pidge said, lifting her chin, “but let him go.”

“I don’t think I will,” the officer argued. “Even the weakest symbols can prove useful. Now…let’s see how _useful_ this one is in persuading you.”

Before Pidge could wonder what he meant, one of the soldiers behind Lance grabbed his arm, twisting it up at an angle uncomfortable enough to pull a wince from him, and took a finger.

A harsh cracked disrupted the tense silence, followed by a scream of pain.

“No!” Pidge shouted, trying and _failing_ to jump to her feet when her captors forced her down. “Wh-what the _quiznak_ was that for?” She blinked furious tears from her eyes - _already_? - and glared at the Altean officer.

“A warning,” he said, all traces of brevity gone. “You should know, the Empress cares not if we take you Paladins dead or alive, so if you refuse to answer my questions, you forfeit his life.”

“Th-then why would I answer _any_ of your questions if you’ll k-kill him anyway?” Pidge forced her head upright, hoping a show of confidence would bely the fear in her voice.

“We have other potential _candidates_ we can use to persuade you if your lover in pain isn’t enough,” the officer said, a nasty smirk twisting his face. “I hear you have a brother you looked forward to seeing.”

Impassivity failed her as her eyes shot open at the implied threat that she had no doubt he would follow through with.

She swallowed, trying to think past the ache in her shoulders and her knees pressed into the hard ground and the dull throbbing at the back of her head. Her eyes flicked up to meet Lance, observing his too-pale face and the dampness on his cheeks.

She couldn’t tell if it was from the rain or tears of pain.

Pidge licked her lips and said, “W-what do you want to know?”

“Where are the former Black Paladin and the Yellow Paladin?” the Altean wondered.

“I-I can’t tell you that!” Pidge said, her heart stuttering.

The officer glanced over his shoulder, and a soldier broke another of Lance’s fingers.

This time he only gasped, his face scrunched up while Pidge fought the grip on her.

“I-I don’t know!” she told the officer. “W-we went our separate ways; we weren’t supposed to know where the others were going. We kept it a secret from each other!”

“You really expect me to believe that someone like _you_ wouldn’t find out anyway?” He sighed and turned back towards Lance. “Nothing _you_ want to say now with two broken fingers?”

Lance set his jaw, but his shining eyes flitted to Pidge.

The officer noticed.

He mused, “You were awfully mouthy when we caught you…until she showed up.”

Lance’s eyes widened in horror, understanding faster than she did for once, as the Altean meandered at an achingly slow pace in Pidge’s direction. “N-no, you quiznaking—” He struggled against his captors, fury visible in every muscle of his face.

But the officer ignored him, an ugly smirk on his lips as he rested an eerily gentle hand under her chin and tilted her head back. “Maybe he’ll talk faster than you…”

Her skin crawled where he touched her, but before she could wrench her face from his grip, a burst of blue light caught her eye.

The red bayard vanished from his belt.

A broadsword materialized in Lance’s intact hand a heartbeat later.

The soldiers at his back stumbled back in surprise, and Lance surged to his feet, swiping at them before charging towards Pidge and the sacred Altean.

She lurched backwards, knocking into one of the soldiers holding her as her own bayard returned to her hand.

Lance attacked the Altean officer with a wordless, angry shout.

Pidge grinned, adrenaline coursing through her blood despite the steep opposition rapidly recovering from their shock. Her bayard cut through the chain binding her wrists, and she stepped towards Lance to guard his back.

The Altean officer parried a strike from Lance with Keith’s knife, reaching behind him to pull out and raise a blaster.

The officer fired.

Pidge’s heart stopped as she screamed, “ _Lance_!”

Lance’s body dissolved into mist before he hit the ground.

Pidge gasped, shaking with gut-wrenching sobs and struggling to catch her breath as the courtyard disappeared and she fell to her knees in an open realm of electricity and incomprehensible orbs. The coat she wore to protect herself from the rain fell away in fine threads of light, but she couldn’t bring herself to marvel at the phenomenon.

She didn’t know how much time passed - if _time_ even existed here - until her shock faded and all that was left was the burdensome ache in her chest, until she took stock of her surroundings and her circumstances and Bob himself approached her, lounging on his hovercraft.

He sighed heavily and said, “That was tough to watch. Even worse than watching the Snick eat someone.”

His words sparked Pidge’s fury, and she bolted to her feet and _glared_. “What was the _point_ of showing me that? I’m trying to _keep_ him from dying, not see him die anyway!”

Bob shrugged, infuriatingly unbothered by her words. “So will everyone eventually, and so will you, don’t you think?”

Pidge bit her lip, something in his words striking a chord deep within her. Death…was just a part of life, so what right did she have to try to prevent one that already _happened_?

Bob disrupted her musing by directing her attention to an orb hovering just over her shoulder, a scene already flashing within it. But Pidge refused to look too closely, instead demanding, “W-why would I want to see that future get _worse_?”

Bob only smiled, so with a sigh she turned towards the orb.

She flinched at the sight of Matt and their mother, sitting in a dimly lit prison cell recognizable as one aboard an Altean ship. Energy cuffs bound Colleen’s wrists, a chain connecting them to Matt’s.

He sat beside her on a bench, his arm awkwardly wrapped around her shoulders. A livid bruise made his eye swell, and he held himself gingerly.

Colleen’s face was drawn and pale, water tracking down her cheeks while Matt spoke to her, his own eyes filled with unshed tears.

Pidge’s chest tightened watching them, a painful lump lodging itself in her throat. And when the cell door flew open and Matt shot to his feet with a wince, she clenched her hands into fists and _longed_ to protect them.

But as the scene in the orb faded from the cell to darkness, something niggled at the back of Pidge’s mind.

She wanted to keep Lance from dying…so why was a view of _her_ family relevant to his fate?

“What do you say?” Bob said, resting his chin on his hand and piercing her with his odd-colored gaze. “You’ve seen three equally probable futures, so do you choose to save him…at the possible expense of Voltron’s cause?”

Pidge blinked at him, startled. Her heart pounded with the pressure - _was_ it worth Lance’s life for that last future she saw? And what would come about if he _stayed_ dead? - but when the answer came to her she sucked in a breath.

“Th-there’s one other thing besides a living Lance all those futures had in common,” Pidge realized, her eyes wide as they drifted around the bizarre landscape of electricity and colorless orbs. She wasn’t sure what she sought - some validation for the choice she was about to make? Or a more definite answer and more _facts_ to take the best option possible? - but she knew she’d recognize it the instant she spotted it.

“And what’s that?” Bob wondered with the air of someone who already knew the answer.

“There’s one option you didn’t show me,” Pidge said, her jaw setting in determination despite the blood rushing past her ears. “I pick that one.”

When a _black_ orb drifted towards her, she touched it without a second thought.

The last thing she heard before darkness took her was Bob’s voice.

“I should’ve expected you of all people to outsmart me…”

* * *

This time Pidge knew what was coming.

She blinked a few times, shaking her head to clear it, her heart pounding when she glanced over her shoulder to look at Lance standing guard.

“Honerva’s going to attack us,” she said, sounding calmer than she thought possible.

“What?” Lance’s eyes widened, his posture stiffening. “How do you—did you get a comm that I missed?”

“In a way,” Pidge admitted, “but…I need to explain something to you.”

“We need to call Allura and Keith then!” Lance said, pacing back and forth. “I can’t take her and protect you at the same time!”

“I know,” she said, biting her lip, “but they’re already on their way, and I need you to listen.” She beckoned him closer to her, and when he knelt beside her, his edginess obvious from this close, from the way his gaze flitted back and forth from her face to the core’s entrance, she continued, “When Allura and Keith get here, I’ll need you to finish downloading the virus. It’s already in the system so it shouldn’t be hard, but it needs to be propagated from—”

“Wait,” Lance said, cutting her off and the full force of his attention falling on her, “isn’t that _your_ job?”

“Yes, but I’m making it yours for—” Pidge swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry; it wouldn’t do to tell him too, or he would try to stop her. He just needed to be prepared for attack. “Lance,” she said instead, taking a chance and resting her gloved hand against his cheek, “trust me, please.”

His hand reaching up to hold hers to his face made warmth flood her, made the resolve within her falter.

What if—

Pidge stomped out that hope before it could take root; there were no certainties, but she’d made the best decision she could with the facts she had, and she had to see it through.

She quickly explained what she needed him to do with the virus, devoutly ignoring the shaking of his head and the tears already pricking at her eyes. “Did you get that?” she asked after finishing her explanation.

“Pidge,” Lance murmured, capturing her eyes with his, “why do I feel like you’re about to say goodbye?”

“Lance, I—”

An arc of electricity struck the floor inches from where they knelt, a burst of explosive energy knocking them down.

Pidge’s shoulder struck the floor, a sharp pain traveling up her arm as she rolled onto her side with a groan. “Lance,” she said, summoning her bayard and looking towards where he’d toppled, “download the—”

“The old plan is still the new plan, Pidge,” Lance insisted, already on his feet with his bayard morphing into a rifle in a flash of blue. “You download the virus, I’ll watch your back.”

“No!” Pidge argued, but before she could say anything else, Honerva herself strode in, her hands full of blue energy and her eyes flashing with malice.

“You have thwarted me for the last time!” she shouted, stalking towards them. “I end Voltron here and now, starting with _you_!”

Energy shot from her hands, aimed at them, and Lance’s shield sprung into being as he put himself between the attack and Pidge.

The shield shattered on contact, the energy shoving him into her with the force of it.

Pidge’s heart jumped into her throat as Lance toppled to the ground, and she knelt over him, frantically checking for his pulse until he sat up, rubbing his back and scowling.

“She’s done for,” Lance declared darkly. He struggled to his feet, right as static crackled into life inside her helmet.

 _“Lance, Pidge!”_ Keith burst in. _“Allura and I are getting close! Hold her off as best as you can till we get there!”_

“Can do,” Lance promised.

Honerva gave them no chance to collect themselves, firing another blast at them as she pushed them further and further towards the wall. They were no match for her, couldn’t gain an edge from this distance, and even Lance couldn’t land a hit on her with his rifle.

“We need to push forward,” he said, glancing at her. “I’ll distract her with some flashy sword fighting”—he smirked, the Altean broadsword he was barely practiced in utilizing taking shape in his hand—”and you get her from the back.”

“Lance,” Pidge said, her need to get him to listen to her returning, “that’s not going to work. _I_ need to attack her.”

“What? Why? No, you—”

An arc of electricity striking Lance in the side proved that talking wasn’t a free action.

“Lance!” Pidge shouted as he fell against the wall, clutching his side.

But rather than crouching beside him to check that he was all right - _like last time_ \- she directed the anger swiftly filling her at Honerva.

She met Pidge’s eyes impassively, and the lack of emotion there somehow infuriated her more.

Pidge attacked.

Honerva’s defense struck her square in the face.

Pidge fell as energy coursed through her, overburdening her nerves and arching her back and locking her jaw. Distantly she knew she hit the ground, but with electricity overwhelming her senses - with the sparks dancing under her skin and the acrid scent of burning hair - she barely felt it.

She quivered as the energy dissipated, leaving her cold and numb and in desperate need of a nap. A whimper escaped her, and she curled into a ball.

“Pidge!” Lance yelled, his voice slow to reach her through her sluggish processes.

She knew her body was shutting down but was still aware in a distant way - like she sat in the same room while a movie she paid no attention to played - of Keith and Allura finally arriving and engaging Honerva more effectively than she and Lance could’ve.

She heard Keith shouting at Lance to grab her and go, to rush her to safety.

When Lance picked her up, cradling her against his chest as he ran and begged her to _hold on_ , she couldn’t even feel his warmth seeping through two layers of armor to stimulate her fried nerves.

Guilt unfurled in her stomach - guilt at what she’d known, and at what she’d _done_.

Her chest ached - why was _that_ the only thing she could feel properly? - at the realization that her death would break Lance’s heart just like his broke hers.

“S-stay with me, Pidge,” Lance said. “Stay awake!”

Pidge offered a weak hum in response, somewhere finding the strength to cup his jaw. “L-Lance, c-can you”—she licked her lips, surprised at the taste of salt, of tears—”do me a f-favor?”

“No,” Lance denied immediately, shaking his head and holding her closer. “I can’t, b-because you’ll do it for y-yourself once you’re feeling better.”

Pidge giggled, although she wasn’t sure if Lance said something funny or if she grew delirious. “I-I don’t th-think so…” She stroked his cheek and wondered if she imagined the slightest hint of stubble under her fingers. “I-it won’t be hard…not l-like I’m asking y-you to clean my room.”

Lance made a sound that was half-laugh, half-whimper. “N-no, th-that might be impossible even for you.”

A tear escaped the corner of his eye, and Pidge caught it on her gloved fingertip. “J-just…I’m sorry that I-I have to hurt you, Lance,” she said, her voice trembling. “T-tell m-my family - M-Matt and Mom and D-Dad - I’m s-sorry too.”

“No, Pidge…”

When Lance set her down in the Red Lion’s cockpit - she’d barely noticed their passage beyond the jostling of his pace - and Red took off without his leaving her side to pilot, Pidge said, “M-my helmet…”

Lance understood, carefully sliding her helmet off her head and setting it aside. He quirked an eyebrow, a startled laugh escaping him, and ran his fingers through her static-filled hair. “Y-you look like a r-real mad genius, Pidge.”

“Th-that’s so s-sweet of you to say,” she said, a smile pushing at her lips.

He then took off his own helmet before leaning against the wall and pulling her towards him so she leaned against his chest, his arms around her waist. “Y-you’re too cold.”

Pidge could barely tell, but she wasn’t about to complain with him holding her. But her heartbeat slowed when it should be doing the opposite around him.

She was closer.

“S-say my name, Lance,” she murmured, her lips barely obeying her anymore.

“Pidge?”

“N-no, my…other.” Her eyelids slipped shut, but she forced them back open when Lance poked her cheek.

His blue eyes peered into hers, his breath the warmest thing she’d ever felt against her cold skin, and from the steeliness in his gaze and the stubborn set of his jaw, she worried he’d refuse.

Until his breath touched her ear and he whispered, “Katie.”

Pidge clutched his hand at her waist with all the strength she had left. She turned her head slightly, just enough for her lips to brush his.

Lance took her face in his hands and kissed her properly, with more strength than she could muster to return. She tasted the salt of his tears as she clutched weakly at his hand, a dumb, almost giddy grin on her face, despite the pang in her chest, when he pulled back.

Her heart could’ve stopped and she wouldn’t have complained.

“D-don’t leave me, Katie,” Lance said, steadier than she expected as he stroked her cheek. “W-we’ll get you to the infirmary on the Atlas, and A-Allura c-can heal you. J-just hold on a little longer.” He inhaled shakily and pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t want…”

Pidge never heard what he didn’t want.

* * *

_“…to live without you.”_

Lance stared at the incredibly interesting ceiling of his room aboard the Atlas, his hands folded beneath his head, his legs stretched out and ankles crossed.

A half-eaten tray of food both human and alien sat abandoned on the floor beside his bed while Allura’s mice and a pair of guests foraged from it. Platt looked up with his yellow cheeks stuffed before scampering away, the other three mice hot on his heels as they escaped through a vent.

Lance raised an eyebrow when his other guests lingered, hovering up and towards him with crumbs stuck to their faces and the markings on their cheeks gleaming. “You know, my mother would kill me for eating in my bedroom,” he mused, “but I’ll forgive you.”

He couldn’t decide if they were welcome or unwelcome guests. Perhaps it depended on his mood and how much it hurt to think of her at the given moment.

Sometimes seeing her pets drove a stake through his heart, but sometimes, like now, it filled him with a bittersweet fondness.

But why did they only bother _him_?

And there was the stake.

Lance rolled onto his side, facing the wall with his back to them as a heavy ache filled his chest. Lately it had even infected other parts of his body whenever he had to drag himself to meetings, the only time it dissipated completely when there was a mission to distract him.

And then the words _“Form Voltron!”_ would fall from Keith’s lips, and Lance - and all of them - would remember again.

(It was a good thing they rarely needed to form Voltron anymore…)

Allura had done everything she could, spent a sleepless night cycle with him hovering, daring to be hopeful, trying to revive her with alchemy. But eventually she’d turned to him with tears swimming in her eyes and confessed that there was nothing she could do, that her spirit was too long gone.

 _He_ could’ve done more to keep her alive, and Lance _knew_ it, despite what Sam Holt himself said.

They still hadn’t told Matt…

Lance sat up abruptly, a lump stuck in his throat, and buried his face in his hands.

When Veronica came by to check on him, he hugged her, his face already sticky with tears that since dried up, and grumbled, “W-wish I’d asked her to invent a time m-machine…”

Veronica chuckled and rubbed his back. “You and me both…”

He tried to sleep not long after that, but his thoughts kept him awake. Before he could grow too entrenched in them, he threw his blankets aside and stood, pacing in a tight circle around his tiny bedroom in an attempt to exhaust himself.

Instead, Lance wondered, _“What could I have done differently?”_

He just wanted another chance, wanted her to be safe and _alive_ with him - or without him if need be.

When Lance finally fell asleep, he dreamed of a strange, wide-open landscape of arcing electricity, the air humming with static and littered with small orbs that were both metallic and translucent at the same time. And in the midst of these orbs perched on a small hovercraft was the last person he hoped to see in a dream again.

“ _Bob_?” Lance spluttered, his eyes wide and his arms flailing. “What the—is this another game show?”

Bob clicked his tongue - did he have a tongue? - in disapproval, hovering closer to him. “Perhaps in a way,” he said, “although its risks are a little more…permanent.”

Lance swallowed, apprehension filling him. “What’s going on?”

He smiled. “You want to keep her alive, do you?”

His jaw dropped. “What—”

“Well, I’m here to show you what probable futures arise from that.”

Lance stared at him, unable - and unwilling - to believe that this was really Bob and not some crazy manifestation of his subconscious desires. Of _course_ he wanted - _needed_ \- her alive; every moment since her heart stopped - since she died in his arms - he struggled to simply _breathe_.

But that didn’t mean he was _dumb_ enough to believe the opportunity Bob presented to him. “Is there a…catch?” he wondered.

“Not from me,” he reassured him. “The future is its own trap.”

Lance curled his fingers into fists, his heart pounding and a wariness filling him, but the longer he stood here in this strange realm, the more he _desperately_ wanted to see what it had to offer. He reached out to an orb, but before he did, Bob said:

“If you touch that, you won’t be able to leave until you’ve made a decision either way, and you should know…this offer doesn’t come twice in a lifetime.”

“I need her back, Bob,” Lance said, his jaw setting as colors swirled within the orb. “She deserves a future, and…I love her.”

His heart skipped a beat at the confession, and he gritted his teeth, cursing himself for realizing it too late.

Bob said, “You’re even dumber than I thought.”

“Let me guess,” Lance said, shooting a scowl at him, “Pidge was here too.”

And with how strange she’d been acting _before_ , it made a sick kind of sense. “Quiznak,” he hissed, hot tears pricking his eyes. “H-how could she be so _selfish_?”

Bob laughed, to his shock. “I’m old and not easily surprised, but that did it for me. Congratulations on figuring it out! Now”—he laced his fingers together—”let’s see if it’s enough to finally break this cycle.”

**Author's Note:**

> other titles bandied about include "cause and effect(s)", "Final Jeopardy!", "Who Wants to Keep Lance Alive?", "Wheel of Fates", "The Price Is Not Right", and "Facing Reality". ~~guess which ones were serious ideas~~
> 
> i came up with WAY too many details for the Bad Future (third scene), and you'd be surprised how much didn't make it (because i couldn't really work them in naturally...i blame them for that scene being so unnecessarily long ~~yet i didn't cut any because i LIKE it~~ )
> 
> so...hope you liked it, and remember, comments are love <33
> 
> ~~next thing i post on tumblr will be FLUFFY because oh boy does the fandom need it~~


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